In Bengaluru's Byatarayanapura lived 70-year-old Narayanappa. Retired bus conductor. Wife Lakshmi died 5 years ago. Two children — son Ramesh, a software engineer in America, daughter Suma, a nurse in Dubai.
Narayanappa was alone. Monthly income 18 thousand — pension and other sources. Out of that, 8 thousand was house rent. In the remaining 10 thousand — medicines, food, electricity bill.
Every Sunday he video-called the kids. When he asked "How are you, Appa?" both had the same answer: "Busy, Dad. Will talk later."
Narayanappa had a kidney problem for 2 years. Dialysis twice a week. 2 thousand per session. Monthly expense 16 thousand. Pension only 18 thousand.
Doctor said: "Narayanappa, if we do a transplant you'll survive. Cost 10 lakhs."
Narayanappa laughed: "Doctor, is my life worth 10 lakhs? My son earns 5 lakhs a month. But he doesn’t have 5 minutes to call me. Where will he give 10 lakhs?"
Narayanappa took a decision. He stopped dialysis. Didn’t tell the kids. "Why give them tension?" he thought.
Instead, he bought a diary. Named it "Prepaid Death".
On the first page he wrote:
"I'm paying in advance for my own death. Like Jio, Airtel, my life also needs recharge. But no one will do it. So I'm doing it myself."
Every day he started "prepaying" something.
Day 1: Took his photo, framed it, brought a garland and kept it. Wrote below — "Paid".
Day 2: Went to the crematorium, saw a spot for himself. Gave 500 advance to the boy. "Paid".
Day 3: Ordered firewood for cremation. ₹3000 "Paid".
Day 4: Put aside dakshina for the Brahmins for the 13th day ritual. "Paid".
Day 5: Wrote a final letter to the kids. Didn't post it. Kept it in the trunk. "Paid".
20 days passed. Narayanappa's condition became critical. Neighbor Papanna admitted him to the hospital.
The doctor called Ramesh: "Your father is in last stage. Kidney failure. 48 hours only. Come soon."
Ramesh: "Doctor, I'm in a project delivery. Need 3 weeks. Do a video call. I'll speak to him."
The doctor was shocked. Called Suma. She said the same: "Doctor, flight ticket is 1 lakh. Can't do it now. I'll send money. Give him good treatment."
The doctor came to Narayanappa and said: "Ayya, I’ve informed your children."
Narayanappa smiled slowly. Gestured to the nurse to get his diary. Opened the last page.
It read:
"Dialysis - Stopped. Paid.
Children's expectation - . Paid.
Life - Stopping tomorrow. Already Paid."
One more line below:
"I recharged my own death. There’s no one to give me a missed call. So I used up the full talk time."
Narayanappa died that same night. Diary in hand, peace on his face.
Papanna called Ramesh: "Sir, your father is gone."
"Oh... Okay. Keep the body in the mortuary. I'll come after 3 weeks and do the procedure. If there’s a cremation package, book it. I'll transfer money."
Papanna got angry. Cut the call, gathered the villagers. Everyone together did Narayanappa's last rites.
The firewood? Narayanappa had already "Paid".
The spot? Narayanappa had already "Paid".
Brahmin's dakshina? Narayanappa had already "Paid".
Not a single rupee was spent by anyone. "Prepaid Death" — came true.
The 13th day ritual was also done by the villagers. They used the cover Narayanappa had "Paid" for.
After 3 weeks Ramesh and Suma came. House was locked. Papanna gave the key.
Inside, on the table, 2 covers. One "To Ramesh", another "To Suma". Along with the "Prepaid Death" diary.
Ramesh opened his cover. Inside 500 rupees and a note:
"Son Ramesh,
Your flight ticket from America is 1 lakh. Don't waste that much money to see my corpse, so I've kept 500. This is your bus charge. Come stand at my grave for 2 minutes and go. I've 'Paid' for your time.
Yours, your Prepaid Appa."
Suma opened her cover. In that also 500 rupees and a note:
"Daughter Suma,
You are a nurse. You serve hundreds daily. But you couldn't come for your father's dialysis. It's okay. Take this 500. Put a garland at my grave. Even if you come after duty, it’s fine. I won't wait. Already 'Paid' and gone.
Yours, your Prepaid Appa."
Narayanappa
Both read the diary. On the last page in red letters:
"Children, I recharged my own death. Know why?
For your love, 'incoming call free' was there. But you didn’t even give a 'missed call'.
So I went 'outgoing' myself. Balance Zero. Validity expired. Number Not Reachable - Forever."
Ramesh and Suma fell and cried before the grave. Villagers saw and said: "What’s the use of crying now? If you had given 5 minutes when he was alive, there’d be no need to write this 500 rupee note."
Ramesh now runs an NGO in Bengaluru called "Prepaid Pitru Care". Free health check-ups and free meals for lonely elderly.
On the NGO’s board it says:
"Recharge your parents' lives. If you miss the call, lifetime validity is lost.
After that, no matter how much you top-up, there’ll be no network."
*Moral:* Parents are like prepaid SIMs. If you don’t recharge, one day they’ll become "Not Reachable". Then there’s no tower in the crematorium.
"Busy" is not a reason. Give your parents a "missed call" today... They are at an age where they will "call back".
No matter how big your position, how much you earn, caring for parents lovingly in their old age and giving them peace is the duty of every child..(,thanks to the unknown author